


After the Nautilus

by TheGoldenGhost



Category: L'Île mystérieuse | The Mysterious Island - Jules Verne, Vingt mille lieues sous les mers | Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea - Jules Verne
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Light Angst, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-15 12:02:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29189007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGoldenGhost/pseuds/TheGoldenGhost
Summary: Cyrus Smith travels to Paris to deliver the news about Nemo's death to Professor Aronnax.
Relationships: Pierre Aronnax & Capitaine Nemo | Pierre Aronnax & Captain Nemo
Kudos: 13





	After the Nautilus

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!
> 
> I've had the idea for this fic rolling around in my head for a while now. More than one person has sent me anonymous asks about the scenario on Tumblr, and a few have expressed interest in reading a fic about it. So here's my crack at it. ^^
> 
> I kept Cyrus Smith's name as "Smith" because I had no clue his name was changed to "Harding" in some translations until just recently. The translation that I read kept it as "Smith" so that is how I know the man, and that is his name in my mind. 
> 
> I also kept Nemo's final words true to Verne, although I know his last words were changed in some editions of the book as well. (To "God and Country" of all things, as if THAT makes any sense for a man who abandoned the countries of the world... *sigh* ah well.)
> 
> In any case, I hope you like it, and thanks for reading!

Cyrus was not entirely sure he had the right place.

The apartment building was small and rather run-down, in a neighborhood of Paris that was out of the way and… it had to be said, less than ideal for pleasant company. But this was the address he’d been indicated, and unless it was a misprint or a prank, this was the home of the man he was looking for. It just didn’t seem to fit the picture of that man, at least not how Cyrus had envisioned him.

Cyrus entered the apartment building and tried not to make eye contact with anyone as he climbed the stairs. He was aware that he was not a large man, and was a foreigner besides. In this place, perhaps that would make him vulnerable. He kept his eyes ahead and focused on his goal. Like it or not, he had to meet this man.

He came to the door, paused a moment to collect himself and prepare to bolt if he found himself in some unfortunate straits, and knocked.

There was a long pause, then some frantic rustling inside. Cyrus waited. And then he waited some more. He was just getting ready to turn away when the door opened, and Cyrus came face to face with a short, stout little man with thin greying hair and dark blue eyes that blinked somewhat vacantly behind a pair of small round glasses. “May I help you?” he asked.

“I am looking for Professor Aronnax,” Cyrus replied, shifting uneasily. He hoped his French was intelligible. He hadn’t really spoken it since his school days. Getting to this apartment was hard enough, but the following conversation would surely take every ounce of translation skill Cyrus had. “Might you be Monsieur Conseil?”

“Conseil? No, Conseil has not lived here in ten years, not since he got a teaching position at the University of Geneva. I am Professor Aronnax,” the man bowed slightly to Cyrus.

“My name is Cyrus Smith. I’m an American engineer from Massachusetts and I wrote to you a few months back asking if we could meet, as I was traveling to Paris and had a few things I wanted to discuss with you.”

“Oh, Mr. Smith. Yes, I remember you now,” Professor Aronnax narrowed his eyes in thought. “The American who survived for three years on an island in the Pacific – I believe you and your companions called it Lincoln Island? I read about your plight in the newspapers.” He stared at Cyrus for a few moments with an expression of understanding. “I did agree to that meeting.”

“Is this a bad time, sir?”

“No. Please come in.” The interior of the apartment was tiny, drab, and somewhat disorderly – newspapers littered the kitchen table and books, papers, and all manner of old scientific specimens were scattered about on shelves as well as on any flat surface - but it was clean in spite of the clutter. Sleeping near a heater was a long-furred brown dog with a grizzled muzzle. It looked up blearily when they came in, wagged its tail once, and then went back to sleep. Cyrus smiled, thinking of Top. He’d left him with Pencroff back home; a sorrowful parting, but temporary, and Top didn’t much like long journeys now. One in a lifetime was plenty for him.

“That’s Sophie,” Aronnax said with a smile. “My constant companion. She is getting old now, but she’s still young at heart.” He looked around the room and then back at Cyrus, a bit apologetic. “Forgive these conditions, please. I hadn’t time to tidy up before you came. I used to have a woman to keep house for me back when I lived in a better apartment, but…” he paused. “Well, some years ago I ran in with some bad people and I’ve had to keep a low profile, you see. But, you aren’t here to learn about that. Would you like some coffee?”

“Yes please, sir,” Cyrus said. “And thank you again for allowing me into your home.”

“Oh, not at all. I rarely get guests,” Aronnax began to heat the water to brew the coffee. “But I am curious – what is it that brought you to me? I am not an engineer, nor have I ever been. I’m just a simple physician.”

“And a marine naturalist.”

“That was a former life,” Aronnax replied with a sad smile. “But yes… marine naturalism was my greatest love. Is your question about that?”

“No… it’s about your book,” Cyrus replied cautiously, noting as Aronnax’s smile faded. “The one that caused so much controversy upon its publication… _Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea._ ”

“I can understand why that would be so fascinating to an engineer,” Aronnax said coolly. “But I don’t wish to speak about that book. It ruined my career and my reputation and landed me in danger with certain foreign powers that I don’t wish to speak of. Besides that, I know nothing of the actual mechanical power of the _Nautilus_. Everything you’ll find out is published in that book, sir, so coming to me about it is a waste of your time.”

Cyrus nodded. “I know. But this is not about the _Nautilus_. This is about the man you referred to as Captain Nemo.”

Aronnax turned on him at once, an expression of horror and outrage etched onto his face. “You! You would come to my home under false pretenses? Attempt to lure me into trust with lies? Who are you? Who sent you?” Alarmed by her master’s sudden outburst, Sophie bolted up, snarling. She was not a very large dog, but her teeth looked strong and sharp.

“No one! I have come of my own accord, sir, honestly!” Cyrus put up his hands and stood, slowly. “If you wish I will leave right now. I only wanted to speak to you about something regarding him. But you are under no obligation, and I did not come to threaten or force you to speak.”

The professor stared at him for a long moment, Sophie bristling at his side. Eventually, though, he relaxed. A weary look came over his face, and he began to stroke Sophie’s head, signaling her to stand down, which she did. “Prince Dakkar… that was his true name, the man you speak of… had many enemies,” he said softly. “Most of the public believed I was a liar and a fool, just some washed-up old professor trying to make a name for himself by telling tall tales. But the few who knew Dakkar… they knew I was honest. And those were the people who came to me as you did, looking for more information about their old enemy.” He shuddered, staring out the window. “They were not so quick to back down as you were.”

Cyrus was silent, not knowing what to say. It was far from his place to comfort this man, who had been through so much by no fault of his own. He cleared his throat and continued, carefully. “How did you come to know his name?” He asked. “You made no allusion to it in the book. Did you hide it out of loyalty?”

“I hid nothing,” Aronnax replied quietly. He brought the coffee to the table and sat down across from Cyrus, setting one of the cups in front of him and leaning back to sip his own. “No, sir, I did not hide Nemo’s name to protect him. Upon writing the book, I did not know who he was. But I was curious to learn.” Sophie put her head on her master’s knee, and he began to scratch behind her ears. “So I did. I took to newspapers, books. I was fairly certain from what he’d told me that he was from India, and I knew the relative date he had left aboard the _Nautilus_. And I knew also that he had to be a man who studied abroad for many years, and who was wealthy and politically engaged. From there, it took some digging, but I was able to find who he was.”

Cyrus nodded.

“What do you want to know about him, sir?” Aronnax asked, still in that same quiet voice. “I can’t tell you much. And I won’t give you information that could lead to his harm. But…”

“It’s not that,” Cyrus said, taking a deep breath. “I met the man. He was stranded in a cavern beneath Lincoln Island, still living aboard the _Nautilus_.”

Aronnax flushed. “Sir, if this is a cruel jab – if you’ve come to make fun of me, I shall turn you out right this moment!”

“I am not making fun! I am in earnest,” Cyrus reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out the weathered photographs he’d brought to prove his point. “He gave me these.” One of the photographs was aged – a shot of the mountainous seafloor, apparently some 70,000 feet down. Another showed a dim ruin that Nemo had claimed was Atlantis, but Cyrus obviously could not confirm if this was true. The third photograph was taken on the platform of the _Nautilus_ before she became trapped. It showed Nemo himself, flanked by two of his crew members, standing with his arms crossed and his head turned proudly away from the camera to look towards the sea.

Aronnax took the photos and began to look them over. His eyes widened at the first one. “I remember this photo,” he said in amazement. “We took it together. He and I. The _Nautilus_ was down near the bottom of the sea and was withstanding enormous pressure…” He flipped to the second one and gasped. “Atlantis!”

“So I’ve been told,” Cyrus said, smiling.

“It is. I’ve seen it. Practically from the same vantage point! Oh, this is incredible, this is…” Aronnax shook his head, stunned. “I just can’t believe it. After so many years. It’s real, it was real.” He stared out the window for a moment, at the sun just beginning to creep down into evening. “…I have proof of it at last.”

He turned to the last photo and went still and quiet. For several moments, the only sound was the ticking of the wall clock. “Professor?” Cyrus asked.

Aronnax looked up, his eyes bright with tears. “It’s him,” he said in a trembling voice. “I’d know him anywhere. He looks so much older, but…” he blinked rapidly, overcome with wonder and emotion. “It is him. God, if you only knew how long I waited for him to reach out to me… Thank you, sir. Thank you. I cannot express this enough.”

Cyrus realized then with a sudden foreboding what the news he brought would truly mean. “Ah, sir…” he said solemnly. “Don’t thank me yet.”

Aronnax looked at him questioningly and Cyrus continued. “Captain Nemo gave me these things privately. He asked me to deliver them to you because, you see… he wasn’t going to be able to do it himself.”

Aronnax blinked. “I know he rarely goes ashore… he does not like dry land, or human company.”

“No, sir,” Cyrus decided to just get it over with. Prolonging it further would no doubt be a cruelty. “He could not deliver them to you because he died.”

Silence. Longer than any of the previous ones. Aronnax went white and stared at Cyrus with a blank, confused expression, as if hoping this were indeed some cruel trick and knowing that it was not. At last his gaze fell back to the photographs he’d been given, searching them as if for an answer to the hundreds upon hundreds of questions that must have crowded his brain, the truth to all of which lay thousands of miles away, sunken in Nemo’s tomb.

Cyrus waited, allowing the news to hit home.

At long last, Aronnax spoke in a cracking voice. “How did it happen?”

“He was very ill, sir. And old,” Cyrus said gently. “Just by looking at him it was clear he was tired and simply wanted to rest. But he kept his dignity and grace until the end.”

“I just thought he’d live forever,” Aronnax replied. “I know how foolish that sounds. But if you knew him… if you’d known him as I did, in the very prime of his life, you would know. He seemed tireless. Godlike, almost. As though he could go on and on without stopping. Certainly, it seemed he could go on longer than me…”

“He was mortal, Professor. A brilliant, courageous, and magnificent man. The kind of man one meets perhaps once in a lifetime, yes… but still only human.”

“Was it painful? His death, was he suffering?”

“I don’t know. If he was in pain, he never showed it to us. I don’t think he would have let us know either way. But from the outside, it was very peaceful.”

Aronnax closed his eyes, perhaps in a prayer of thanks for that simple mercy, or perhaps just to let the reality sink in that there would be no chance of reuniting with Captain Nemo. No closure, no second thoughts, not now and not ever. “You said…” he continued finally. “That he was stranded. I cannot imagine how he got that way. Surely, he and his men would have found a way to free the ship?”

“He was alone,” Cyrus replied, realizing just how bitter all these truths were. “The last of his crew.”

“No…”

“Yes. I don’t know what happened to his companions. I suppose they all died and were buried in the coral cemetery you wrote of. All I know is that when we got to him, his last friend had died six years prior and since then, he had been stranded, unable to move the _Nautilus_ from her resting place.”

Aronnax had buried his face in his hands. “He lost his friends… Good lord… after so much…”

“You… you know something of his history?”

“I know about his role in the Indian Rebellion. I know that his family was seized and executed, and that he was captured and held in prison before being pardoned and exiled,” Aronnax said. “But that is all. I do not know details.”

Cyrus studied Aronnax’s face closely, taking in the tension there, the pain and uncertainty. “It is perhaps presumptive of me, sir, but… it sounds as if you sympathize with the Captain. Can this be so, even after he held you prisoner? Even after you watched him murder so many people?”

“I would have liked to know Nemo better,” Aronnax said soberly. “But from what I can glean, he was a complicated, wounded man. When he imprisoned my friends and I, I know he acted out of fear rather than rationality. And though I do not condone his murderous actions, I find it hard to condemn him completely… after all; I have never had a family of my own. But I can well imagine, if my parents, my spouse and children were to be murdered in cold blood by one of France’s invaders, I would not take so kindly to that country’s militia in the future…” he broke off, sighing. “He wanted so much to bring peace and liberation to the people of the world. I know this. But his actions were much darker than his intent.”

Cyrus nodded. “I didn’t know who he was, for the three years we spent on that island. But I do know that he saved my life – all of our lives – many times over. And I know that after the act of murder you witnessed with that British ship, he gave up that life. He never once committed violence of that scale again.”

Aronnax stared into space, pressing his hands to his mouth. “And yet, the universe still saw fit to punish him by making him bury his friends, one by one. Were you with him, sir, at the end of his life? Please tell me he did not die alone.”

“No, of course we would never have let that happen,” Cyrus reassured him. It was true. But part of Cyrus still felt an uneasy weight of knowledge that Nemo had indeed died very much alone. As much as Nemo had cared about Cyrus and his friends with a sort of reserved affection, he never reached out to them, nor did he attempt to form any sort of genuine connection. His last request to meet them had been not out of a longing for human companionship in his final hours, but merely so that he could have someone to carry out his burial rites, and to issue them the warning that saved their lives. Whether this emotional distance was out of aloof disdain for the Americans who shared his island, or whether the old captain was simply too guarded and wary of opening his heart after having it broken by misfortune time after time, Cyrus would never know.

“Thank you,” Aronnax said, looking hard at Cyrus with eyes full of emotion. “If I could have, I would have been there with him. But I am glad to know, at least, that he was among friends.”

Cyrus nodded.

“Now,” the professor continued in a tight voice. “It is getting a bit late, and your coffee is cold.” Cyrus looked down and saw that he was right. He’d forgotten it was there, with all the discussion. He took a quick sip and shuddered at the bitter brew. “I would ask that you come back again tomorrow morning, if you are available. I have, of course, many questions, but I would need time to gather my thoughts, and… come to terms.” He gazed at the photographs he was holding. “I’ll be presumptuous – may I keep these?”

“Of course! I brought them for you,” Cyrus replied. “A last gift from the Captain.”

“Oh,” Aronnax said, and seemed on the verge of tears again.

“I’ll be over in the morning. I’m sorry we couldn’t have met under better circumstances. But I do love your books, and…” he trailed off, uncertain of what to say. “I wish I could offer you more than bleak half-answers.”

Aronnax shook his head. “Don’t apologize, sir. You’ve given me more than I’ve had in fifteen years.”

***

Cyrus returned the following morning as promised. Aronnax met him at the door, looking tired and somewhat worn, but smiling, the wary and listless expression gone from his eyes. Sophie greeted him with a curious sniff and a wag of her tail.

“Come in, Monsieur!” Aronnax said. Cyrus stepped into the tiny apartment. It looked cleaner than it had before, and on the table were the three photographs – now framed, and waiting to be hung up. Cyrus looked them over carefully and smiled.

“Oh, those will be going up on a wall somewhere. I need to find a spot that looks nice,” Aronnax admired the pictures for a second more, his eyes soft. Then he turned. “We can have a drink in the sitting room. Oh, it’s not very big or much or look at, but it’s got a better view.”

The view was of the little street that Aronnax’s apartment looked out on. Below, Cyrus could see people wandering around about their business. Since his return, mundane life had seemed so dreary and ordinary to him. He wondered if the professor had felt the same, coming off the _Nautilus_.

They sat down on the little couch and Sophie lay at Aronnax’s feet, heaving a contented sigh.

“You said you had questions for me,” Cyrus said. “Might I ask what they were?”

“Oh, yes,” Aronnax said. “Firstly… Nemo kept a record of his life’s history signed in his own name and kept in a waterproof box which he intended to throw into the ocean the day the last man alive on the _Nautilus_ went down with her. Did he give you any such box?”

“No,” Cyrus said. “I imagine if he still had such a thing, he sent it adrift himself, years ago. He couldn’t have known how long he’d live, stranded on that island.”

“Indeed, he couldn’t,” Aronnax said. “I wish I could have read it, even so. I know such precious little about him. Even if I was able to learn his name, and the fate of his family, there is so much more that remains hidden.”

“To me, too,” Cyrus said. “But before he died he told my companions and I a brief version of his life’s history.”

Aronnax’s eyes widened. “Why would he do that?”

“I don’t know,” Cyrus replied. “Perhaps he thought he needed to explain himself, knowing that we had read your book and might think him a criminal. Perhaps he simply wanted someone to know the truth about him. Or maybe he was lying, selling us a good story so that we might go forth and clear his name after it had been tarnished.”

The professor nodded solemnly. “Very true,” he said. “Would you be so kind, though, as to tell me what it was he said? About himself? I’ve been so curious for so long.”

Cyrus inclined his head and began the tale. It was a long one, and often sad. As he spoke, trying his best to remember every detail as the captain had said it, he noticed that Aronnax was resting with his eyes closed and his head back, taking in each word.

When he reached Nemo’s defeat by the British Army and flight into the ocean, the professor sighed quietly. And by the time he came to the part where Aronnax and his companions fled on the dinghy during the maelstrom, Aronnax had begun to cry silently, tears streaming down his face. His eyes remained closed. Cyrus concluded the tale, acknowledging that Nemo had never again sunk a warship and lived out the remainder of his life at peace with mankind, if apart from them, and trying to reconcile for his violent actions.

“So,” Aronnax said when it was over. “He died a very different man than he was when I knew him.”

“Yes,” Cyrus said. “He only wanted to be at peace. And I think he wanted to be forgiven. Some part of him, at least. Even if he never completely regretted his actions, I believe he wanted to die knowing that his memory would not be that of a villain.”

Aronnax thought this over. “It was my doing, wasn’t it. My book that caused people to think so ill of him.”

“Well, many people take that book as a work of fiction…”

“And that he is a fictional devil. A vengeful menace, prowling the seas for blood! And to think he was real. He was my _friend_ and his legacy now will be what I wrote of him in that book…”

“Professor,” Cyrus said. “He didn’t know about the book. He never read it, nor did he even know of its existence. His desire for forgiveness was all internal. It had nothing to do with what mankind at large thought of him then, or thinks of him now. And besides that, I think your portrayal of him was quite honest. You only showed him as what you knew him to be; a flawed and tragic man.”

“He was that…” Aronnax replied with a sigh.

They sat together in a comfortable silence for a while. Cyrus didn’t press Aronnax to see if he had any more questions; the professor would get to that on his own time. Instead they simply enjoyed each other’s company and sorted out their thoughts about the man they’d both known as Captain Nemo – Aronnax as his enemy and friend, Cyrus as his savior and ally.

“Did he have any sort of message for me?” Aronnax asked after a time. “You said he gave you the photos. Was there anything else?”

There hadn’t been, and Cyrus regretted to mention it. But Nemo had been closed off to the very end of his life, concealing his true feelings about everything and leaving Cyrus only to guess. He had spoken of Aronnax in only the frankest terms, not even mentioning him by name, referring to him simply as “the French naturalist” who had come aboard his ship long ago. He had not mentioned whether Aronnax was even a guest or a prisoner. Perhaps it was one and the same to Nemo, or maybe it was a source of shame even now. But even if he seemed not to care much about righting past wrongs… surely he must have harbored some sort of feeling for the professor, if on his deathbed he drew Cyrus aside and asked him quietly to deliver him a parting gift? What else could have caused him to act in that way if not some old unreleased attachment?

They _were_ friends, after all.

“No,” Cyrus said at last. “I’m sorry. But there was nothing. I wish you could have been there. Perhaps if you had been, he would have said something that needed to be said. But as it was…”

“I understand.”

“He was an unusual man. I don’t know that he would have been comfortable relaying something personal to a stranger.”

“No, he wouldn’t,” Aronnax replied. He didn’t seem offended or upset by Nemo’s dismissal of him, only saddened. “Somehow I knew there would never really be closure between us. Over the years I’ve made my peace with it. I was very fond of the man and I think, under different circumstances, he would have been a dear friend to me all my life. But as it stands, he had far too much of a history, and we did not meet on good terms. And maybe, in truth, he meant more to me than I meant to him. It’s not impossible. Sometimes in life we grow attached to people who don’t feel the same.”

“I can’t imagine being friends with him even for a few months. He was too enigmatic,” Cyrus smiled. “We wouldn’t have gotten along.”

“I know, I’m a lucky man, perhaps. And he was always odd. Aloof, you know. You read it in that book. But the few times we were on common ground, when we truly connected with each other…” Aronnax sighed. “Yes. That was wonderful. I’ve never been able to forget him.”

“I doubt I’ll be able to, either,” Cyrus said.

“You said he didn’t die alone. Yesterday, you said you were with him.”

“Yes.”

“Did you hear his last words? Was he at peace, somehow?”

Cyrus shrugged. “Do you suppose he ever could have been? Aside from his crew, Professor, you’re probably the man who knew him best in the world. And his crew is dead with him. So, you tell me, do you think he could have ever found peace?”

“No,” Pierre said. “I don’t.”

“He was not afraid to die. The last thing he ever said was ‘Freedom’ but whether he was remarking on being set free from the suffering of this world, or speaking of the thing he sought and failed to find all his life…” Cyrus shrugged.

“It is hard,” Aronnax said. “That he died trapped on his own ship. If he’d had a choice, I know he would have died in battle. Or at the very least, near the open panels, looking out at the ocean. He loved the ocean so much…”

“I would have liked to see the panels opened on the _Nautilus_. I’ve heard it’s an unbeatable view.”

“It is. There is nothing like it in all the world.” Aronnax’s eyes grew soft, imagining the ship he’d spent seven months of his life aboard.

“I’ve always wanted to ask _you_ something, Professor,” Cyrus said.

“Of course! What is it?”

“If you had the chance to stay on board the Nautilus for life – would you have done it?”

“Well, I could not have done such a thing. Ned Land and Conseil needed me.”

“But if they hadn’t been there. Or if they’d agreed to go and given you the choice whether to come with them or stay, what do you think you would have done?”

“I _did_ have that choice, sir. And I left,” Aronnax said, smiling. “My decision to leave was not forced. It was not something I regret. Knowing what I knew then, it was certainly time to go. I could not have stayed aboard that ship for even another minute. But I admit… there were times I missed it. I would have liked to go back for a visit. But Nemo would never have allowed that.”

“No, I guess he wouldn’t.”

“I do regret not having ever seen him again. But how could I?” Sophie had fallen asleep at their feet. Aronnax stretched, seemingly preparing to get up. “Well. That’s all I had for you. Is there anything else you wanted to know, on my part?”

“No,” Cyrus replied. And it was true. All the questions he still had were not questions for Aronnax, but for Nemo.

“I suppose he was buried at sea. Our Captain, I mean.”

“Buried with the _Nautilus_ , yes. In a tomb of lava rock.”

“How dramatic,” Aronnax said with a quiet chuckle, staring out the window. “He would have loved it.”

***

Pierre situated the photograph of Nemo next to the fireplace. In the evenings, when he sat down to read before bed, he would be able to look up at it and remember the evenings aboard the _Nautilus_ , when perhaps Nemo might have come to share that time with him.

Nemo did indeed look older than Pierre had known him. His hair was light gray, and his face was deeply lined. For a moment Pierre reflected – what would it have been liked to know him at that age? If Cyrus was not lying, he was a gentler man than the one Pierre had known. But all the same, the pride that had always been with him in life was evident in his face. The power and dignity.

A small part of Pierre wished the photo showed Nemo in a more comfortable state, relaxed, perhaps smiling. But he doubted the Captain would have ever allowed himself to be photographed in such a position. He closed his eyes quickly as they blurred again with tears. It still did not seem real somehow, Nemo being dead.

True, throughout the years Nemo could have died at any time and Pierre would never have known, but now it was final. Complete. He didn’t even know what his last words to Nemo had been. He had not spoken to him at all in the weeks following the attack on the _HMS Heroic._ And now there would no chance of his ever getting to see Nemo again. Telling him that he almost understood, after all these years, how he could have done it. And that in spite of everything… he had truly missed him.

None of that, now.

Sophie whined softly and nudged his leg. Pierre reached down to pet her ears. She was getting older. Her face was graying with every passing month, and she wasn’t as boisterous as she used to be. He’d still have a few good months, maybe even a few good years with her, but sooner rather than later, he knew he’d have to say goodbye.

And then, with Conseil far away and busy in Geneva, Ned constantly traveling the world, and most of his old friends grown apart or outright dismissing him as mad, Pierre supposed he’d be truly alone in the world, for the first time since he was a nine year old boy without a mother. But then, in a way, he’d been alone for a long while now. A dog was hardly a good conversationalist.

He remembered what Cyrus had said, about Nemo losing his friends and remaining stranded and alone for years. The isolation must have been unbearable. Pierre had his city, Paris, always alive, always with someone not too far away even in the most desolate of times. On an unnamed and unknown island, with no people, stuck permanently and without even his beloved ocean to comfort him… Pierre could not imagine.

He wondered how it would be for him, when his time came to leave the Earth. Would some strangers from a foreign land be brought by the grace of God to accompany him, to hold his hand as he made his way into the vast unknown that came after death? Would they weep for him when he was gone, knowing no one else in the world would?

…What nonsense! He was only fifty-five years old! He had plenty of living left to do. And anyway, surely some neighbor would send for Conseil if Pierre were to suddenly find himself on his deathbed. Conseil would be there, no doubt.

There was still time to find his way in the world. Meet new people, new friends. He had the photos now, of Atlantis, and of the seafloor. Perhaps, perhaps if he brought proof to some of his old museum colleagues… he might have a sporting chance at becoming a professor again. A long shot. And of course, he’d have to learn to protect himself from his enemies. But he could learn that… _could_ he not? Or was he to die alone, squirreled up in his dingy little apartment, terrified and hiding from the world?

…He’d have to get a new guard dog once Sophie grew too old, but. Yes. He could do it. At the very least, he could go outside. It had been too long since he’d been outside, not out of fearful necessity, but simply to walk.

“Shall we go out, Sophie old girl?” He asked her, and her tail began to swish back and forth against the floor. “Come along. Let’s see what’s out there.”

He cast a look back at Nemo’s picture near the fireplace. Oh, it would still hurt when he returned that evening, Pierre knew. It was going to continue to hurt, in different ways, for a very long time. But in the meantime, he could be grateful. If the old captain had brought pain into Pierre’s life, he’d also brought wonder. And even after fifteen years, Nemo was still surprising him.


End file.
